


A Bat and Two Cats

by Laroyena



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Animal Transformation, But mostly angst, Complicated Relationships, Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason's still dead at this point, M/M, Magic, Matchmaking, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Tim is a cutie, this has been a long time coming, very minor timkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laroyena/pseuds/Laroyena
Summary: Two days of eating nothing but stale cereal and near-spoiled milk had given Dick Grayson an entirely newfound appreciation for opposable thumbs.Dick Grayson goes missing. The Batfamily copes. A story of a Bat and two (?!) cats.





	A Bat and Two Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cienna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cienna/gifts).



> Oof, what an emotional rollercoaster this was to write! Lots and lots of angst and feelings and contemplation ahead. Brudick is a complicated ship, and these two can take ages to sort things out. But they will, indeed, sort them out. I hope you like it, cienna! Love and kisses, Secret Santa.

The absolute worst part was, it took people forever to notice he was missing. There was a time Dick Grayson couldn’t have gone a day without someone asking after him—from the Teen Titans to the Justice League to the Batfamily.

 _Someone_ always knew where he was.

He hadn’t realized how far he’d fallen off their radar until two days passed and _still_ no one dropped by. Not even the Bludhaven newspapers seemed to care that their fresh-faced hero hadn’t been on his usual patrol these last few days. Then again, with the staggering, near-impenetrable wall of filth on Bludhaven’s streets, it wasn’t as if Nightwing’s efforts had made much of a difference anyway.

He was new. He was unfamiliar. And apparently he was as flighty as everyone had suspected, given the lack of blue-clad booty swinging in the sky.

His criminals probably thought some lucky bastard had managed to get the drop on him. Gotten rid of that goody-two-shoes once and for all.

No one would have thought his absence could have been the result of a _window lock_.

Two days of eating nothing but stale cereal and near-spoiled milk had given Dick Grayson an entirely newfound appreciation for opposable thumbs.

\--

“I have no quarrel with you, little bird,” Circe told him after he’d finished cutting through her swathe of magical pig guards and kicked down the warehouse door. She was fiddling with a horseshoe, of all things, in her makeshift warehouse shrine, and Nightwing didn’t have time for this.

Circe didn’t seem perturbed at all. “And you should have none with me. This is not Gotham.”

“No,” Nightwing flicked on the taser switch on each end of his escrima sticks. They sizzled to life. “This is Bludhaven, which is my territory now. I know what you’re planning, Circe, and I’m only going to ask you once. Leave.”

“Your territory?” Circe tilted her head. She turned, and the glint in her eyes suddenly had Dick wishing he’d called Donna after all. Or Diana, if facing Donna after his and Kory’s break-up was too difficult. Someone.

But not even Bruce would have called Diana for a case of missing pigs. He wouldn’t need to.

“Oh, you poor bird,” Circe had drawn closer, reaching out a hand. “A songbird cast into the wilderness to fend for itself, when all its been raised to do is to flourish in a cage. Has not your owner any sense of kindness?”

“Stop that.” Dick snapped. “I belong to no one.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Circle clucked her tongue. “Unlike him, I am not without mercy. Look at me, Dick Grayson.” And the sound of his true name falling off her tongue had Dick flinching back. He glanced at her before realizing exactly what that meant, and their gazes locked together. “Look at me, and I will show you that you are loved.”

\--

The good thing was, it was winter.

The bad thing was, it was _winter_.

The milk spoiled slower, for one thing, and food items overall kept better in the cooler, drier air than if it was hot and humid. But the cold also meant Dick would probably freeze to death even if he did somehow manage to open the goddamn window.

Given the facts, it seemed best to just stay put in his wind-sheltered, blanket-filled apartment. Someone would come by eventually, and then he’ll find a way to ask for their help.

Which translated into asking them to hand him over to Bruce, let’s be honest.

The simple thought of Bruce judging him incompetent had his pride squirming in his chest, but at least he could fix this. Bruce could fix anything.

By the dawn of the third day, however, Dick had begun to despair.

For all Circe’s talk of being loved, there’s nothing like being abandoned for three days straight to make one really feel unloved. _Loved_ people had friends and family who’d notice them missing for days at a time. _Loved_ people didn’t question their self-worth when magicked into a form that couldn’t dial for help on a phone.

Perhaps it was all one great joke. He’d looked into those haunting, inhuman eyes and felt something _twist_ inside of his chest—

And then he’d staggered against the kitchen table. His table. She’d sent him… home. Magical pigs were not worth being flung about space-time and then dropped into his apartment like an unruly child.

He’d fumbled for a half-forgotten cup of water on the table and thought as he drank. Facing Circe alone had been stupid. He saw that now. He needed to strategize if he planned to face her again, and if that meant calling for backup… well. None of the Bats liked dealing with magic, as everyone and their mom probably knew. Tim had pointed out that weak spot when he’d first joined their team, frowning over the carefully written notes in the mainframe and highlighting potential security protocols that could be expanded upon. It would’ve been cute, if it wasn’t so much like Jason when he—

Dick’s throat seized in a familiar way. No. He didn’t think about that, not when he couldn’t afford to. Not when that way led to screaming matches with Bruce, earth-shattering fights that nearly tore that goddamn memorial case apart—

He dropped the cup he’d been sipping at.

It fell to the ground and splintered into delicate porcelain fragments, and it was last thing he’d see before everything went dark.

\--

Bruce would have figured out how to open the window by now.

He’d have at least three plans of escape relying on nothing but his own wits, rather than on an uncontrollable variable like _other people’s help_. But Dick just didn’t think like that. He could, of course, but that would be too much like Batman. He didn’t want to be Batman.

And that—well. That was Dick’s Bludhaven experience in a nutshell.

Dick wanted to cry. Instead, he sat back on his haunches and meowed mournfully.

He was a cat.

A cute cat, yes, but still a _cat._ Dick was so very, very sick of being one by now. Selina would have loved it, he was sure, but she wasn’t called Catwoman for nothing. She would have been all grace, independence and temperance. She would’ve taken to this form like a duck to water, because she was a queen of improvisation.

Dick, on the other hand, was probably the worst cat ever.

Okay, maybe not the worst. He seemed to be a relatively healthy cat, all things considered, and after awkwardly holding in his pee for a while he’d figured out how to knock down a potted plant Barbara had mailed to him as a housewarming present. He scrounged up food from the cupboards and buried himself under the blankets of his room, but it still didn’t change the fact that he was a _cat_ trapped in his own apartment.

He couldn’t keep this up forever.

Dick meowed again.

First of all, he was running out of cereal. From the unpleasantness of his… adventures in the pot soil, it probably wasn’t good for his cat digestion anyway. Second of all, he still hadn’t come up with a good plan for after escaping.

Because it was still winter, it was still snowing, and _he was still a cat._

Nearly noontime on the third day, however, his cat ears caught something. He swiveled his head. The familiar sound of a vehicle approached the front of the apartment complex. Not that he could’ve consciously placed that sound given that he only just acquired cat ears, but somehow he _knew_.

Batmobile.

Bruce! It was Bruce!

Except when Dick ran over to the front door meowing excitedly, jumping up onto a stool so he could peer out the tiny window facing the hallway—

When the door opened, the person on the other side was far, far too small to be Bruce.

“Hello?” Tim Drake frowned down at the pile of mail nearly keeping him from shoving the door open. He nudged aside the pile from the welcome mat and stepped inside. “Dick, you here?”

Dick’s first incredulous thought—that Tim had actually stolen the Batmobile and he hadn’t even been Robin a year—was quickly overridden by disappointment. Which was then itself overridden by anger, because he hated how some part of him still expected Bruce to come save him.

He was a grown-ass man who could save himself. The last three days notwithstanding.

“ _Mow_ ,” Dick announced, and was mildly amused when Tim jumped two feet into the air in surprise.

“Hello?” Tim recovered quickly, like Dick hadn’t seen his shock with his own two eyes. “I didn’t know Dick had a cat.”

“Meow?”

“He’s not here, is he?” Tim told him, though he turned back to the mess of the living room with a Bruce-like detective gleam in his eye. “He… hasn’t been here in a few days. The place is a mess. And he wouldn’t leave you to starve if he was going away for a while, which meant he was supposed to come back. So…”

Tim trotted over to the kitchen, and Dick quickly followed after him. Tim frowned at the papers on the desk, the shattered pieces of cup still lying on the floor beneath the table. Dick had carefully lapped up the spilt water a few days ago, before he figured out how to turn the tap on with a paw and drink from the faucet.

“Where have you gone, Dick?” Tim asked, and sometimes Dick loved how smart the newest Robin was. He stood up and pressed his forepaws onto Tim’s boots.

Tim stared blankly down at him for a good moment.

Dick’s ear twitched. Perhaps Tim was smart enough to realize this cat wasn’t all he seemed…?

And then Tim crushed his dreams by glancing over at Dick’s impromptu litter box.

Dick watched, mortified, as Tim took a step towards it. Sniffed. And then _made a face_ at what Dick presumed was the unpleasant smell of his cat digestion plus cereal, and oh god, he wasn’t ever going to live this down.

“We need to go buy you real cat food, don’t we,” Tim said, seemingly mistaking Dick’s low keen of embarrassment as a cry for food.

Dick buried his face under a paw.

\--

For what it was worth, Dick knew it was his own fault the other heroes didn’t understand. He’d kept it that way on purpose.

Robin might be allowed to make mistakes with the Batman, but as the leader of the Teen Titans he had to be strong. Flawed but ultimately capable enough to overcome his failings when it counted, never mind that he was all of sixteen with all the drama of a sixteen-year-old.

The younger titans never saw Dick when he was tired and angry and stubborn, until he finally snapped and flipped a table. They didn’t see Bruce standing behind him like an immovable stone, supportive and oppressive and oh so comforting. Dick hated his indifference, but he needed it to balance his unbridled temper. Batman and Robin, two jigsaw pieces that complemented each other.

It was perfect, and then it was not.

Bruce had moved on, but Dick. Dick had felt lost. And now, after years trying to prove himself in vain, he simply felt _tired._

Maybe that was why he’d approached Circe on his own. He’d broken every rule ever drilled into his head, because the Bat always researched and prepared and planned out every possible outcome—

Because he was tired.

The Teen Titans had gone on without him, because Kory was brilliant and Dick wasn’t going to take away her family in the break-up. The Justice League kept their distance after his and Bruce’s falling out, unwilling to jeopardize their already fraught relationship with the Bat by canoodling with his estranged ward. And Bruce.

Bruce didn’t care.

That had taken far longer to accept, because Dick remembered him caring once.

The Batman had cared about that perfect, beautiful little boy who’d put on the Robin costume the very first time. He couldn’t have imagined it. He couldn’t have. Even when Dick had been full-grown, a hero in his own right, all he wanted was Bruce’s reassurance that he still mattered.

And then Bruce had all but kicked him out on the streets.

He _didn’t care_.

Dick had lived through shattered bones and psychological torture and trauma no child should ever have to know. Yet something about _this_ hurdle hurt deep. Left him shattered. Dick spent so long relying on Bruce’s strength, the loss of it had him _more_ than tired.

It broke his heart.

It had him wondering if he’d ever get over it, and what exactly it would mean if he never did.

\--

Batman called Tim over the communicator in the Batmobile, sounding predictably annoyed that the teenager had squirreled the car away from right under his nose. The fact that he was too young to drive was the least of his Bat-crimes today.

“We’re having Words,” Bruce’s low voice growled, and Tim just tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Dick, who was curled up in the passenger seat wondering why he could drive at breakneck speeds as a human but could barely stomach driving as a cat, hissed. Unfortunately, Bruce heard. “…what was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Was that a cat.”

“Yes, it was,” Tim said.

Silence.

After a moment Bruce undoubtedly used to check the Batmobile’s GPS history, he said, “What were you doing in Bludhaven.”

“Seeing the sights, admiring the view. What do you _think_ I was doing?”

“I’ve told you before not to bother Dick.”

“And I’ve told you that you can’t keep me from seeing him. Just because _you_ want to pretend he doesn’t exist doesn’t mean _I_ have to.”

“He wants his space.”

“Liar,” Tim said, and that was about as much bravery as he had for the day because he reached over and flipped the communicator off.

Dick watched him with an uneasy stomach. It was one thing for Bruce to hiss and growl at him for whatever perceived wrongs he had this time, but hearing him scold Tim? It pissed him off. Even more so because he was scolding Tim for checking up on Dick, and making it sound like _Dick’s_ fault Bruce had wiped his hands clean of him.

The communicator magically flicked itself back on. Tim scowled at it.

“…why do you have a cat.” Bruce continued the conversation as if they’d never stopped.

“Because Dick wasn’t home when I got there, and unlike someone, I’d like to know where he is. He had a cat in the apartment. If I left it there and it starved and Selina found out, she’d choke you with her whip. I was going to stop by hers before going home…”

“No. Bring it here.”

“Bring what? The cat?”

“Robin.”

“Just making sure,” Tim said and then flipped the communicator off with a lot more force than last time. The tense line of his shoulders was all Dick needed to see to understand how frustrated the boy was right now.

“Meow,” Dick said. He pressed a paw to Robin’s spandex-clad thigh.

“Yeah, he’s an asshole,” Tim agreed.

Apparently, shared fury over Bruce’s stupidity transcended even species.

\--

Bruce looked tired.

That surprised Dick.

He hadn’t—he hadn’t seen Bruce face-to-face for so long, and even longer without seeing him unmasked. There were new grooves under his eyes, around his lips—lines not borne from age, but from stress. Bruce looked as if he had the world’s weight on his shoulders, and he was all the more miserable for it.

Bruce had always been kind of moody and miserable and serious, but this defeated look nearly had Dick switching from fury to concern.

Nearly.

“You disobeyed my orders to stay in the Batcave,” Bruce snapped, cowl pushed to his shoulders and attention focused on whatever was under his microscope. Tim just carried Dick over to the computer table and let him sit beside the keyboard. “I could’ve needed you to run recon on Poison Ivy.”

“I already hacked into the surveillance feeds. We’ve got eyes on Ivy at all times. You’re welcome.”

“ _Tim_ ,” Bruce turned around.

“Just say what you really want to say, Bruce,” Tim snapped back. “What’s really bothering you? That I have a life outside of the Cave? That I might want to go visit the only other Robin I know right now, to see how _he_ dealt with your moods?”

Bruce’s eyes were like steel in the light. After an uncomfortably long moment, he turned back to his microscope.

“Dick wasn’t home,” he said.

“He wasn’t,” Tim said.

“Suspicious circumstances,” Bruce said, more as a confirmation than a question. He pointed at Dick with a pair of forceps, not even bothering to look at him. “You feared the cat would starve. Dick wouldn’t starve a cat.”

“There was a shattered cup on the floor,” Tim said, voice quiet. “No footprints or even a sign of a struggle—but Dick. Dick wouldn’t just disappear like that. I know it.”

Bruce was silent for so long Tim began to shuffle his feet. Dick, who probably should’ve felt guilty for listening in on this kind of conversation, was grateful that _someone_ cared. Even if it was his little brother.

Bruce may ignore Tim as he chose, depending on the case at hand and how much Robin needed the Batman’s guiding touch, but he never ignored Dick. It was sobering to sit here, invisible to both of them, and see the difference in their relationship with his own eyes.

Different but still flawed, and if that wasn’t their relationships with Bruce in a nutshell.

“I’ll look into his activity,” Bruce finally said. Tim’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension. “Dick is perfectly capable of handling himself.”

Tim seemed to understand this as Batman-speak for _I’m sure he’s fine_ and ducked away before Bruce could actually, you know. Try to console him with real words. He paused with a hand on the banister.

“Uh, B,” he said. “What are you going to do with the cat?”

“Run tests on it,” Bruce said.

If Dick was any other cat—or person, he supposed—he would’ve found the declaration creepy given that Bruce was still peering through a microscope. But Dick was used to Bruce’s tests, and so was Tim, and so the younger boy just shrugged and ambled upstairs.

Dick side-eyed Bruce from his vantage point at the computer desk.

Bruce had given Tim comfort, and he’d taken his concerns seriously.

Obviously Bruce wasn’t going to break down in hysterical tears at the thought of Dick vanishing—see all of Dick’s maudlin musings from the last three days—but the lack of reaction depressed him all the same. He knew Bruce didn’t care.

(Except Bruce did care about him, just as he knew Bruce loved him, but both of these were simply eclipsed by the fact that Bruce _didn’t_ feel any of those things. The logic of it all was questionable, but the feelings were true. A better descriptor would have been that Bruce didn’t care about him _enough._ Didn’t love him enough. Not as much as Dick so desperately wanted.)

(There was a reason he and Bruce never talked about certain things.)

He _knew_ it, it shouldn’t hurt to see it, and it didn’t matter anyways. Bruce was going to figure out how to reverse this, they’ll probably exchange some biting words, and Dick was going to be back in Bludhaven before the day was over.

They can forget the whole thing ever happened, and everyone can move on with their lives.

\--

Except Bruce couldn’t figure it out.

For one, all the tests he ran indicated that Dick was, by all accounts, Just a Cat. Even the magic talisman John Constantine had sworn up and down would be able to detect enchantments failed to register.

Which just meant Constantine was a lying son of a bitch, but what was new.

For two, it was taking an agonizingly long time for him to confirm that Dick was, indeed, _missing_.

Dick tried to tell them himself at first—but when he tried writing his name in the mud, some invisible force kept his results illegible. All other attempts to retrieve clothing or type on the keyboard left him feeling cloudy and disoriented, until he forgot what he was doing and found himself playing with a spider in the corner.

Losing huge chunks of time to becoming entirely cat terrified him enough to stop trying. Thankfully, the memory loss stopped, too. Dick was still _Dick_. For now.

It just meant this whole case was in Batman and Robin’s hands, and Dick wasn't used to being sidelined like this. He'd always jumped into action and helped.

There were some pluses to the whole ordeal, however. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being able to walk around the manor without the tension between him and the Bat. He hadn’t realized how much it had affected his enjoyment of just being here, because years may have passed but this place was still his home. In a strange, backwards way, this whole adventure was like a vacation.

And after Alfred returned, things were looking up for Dick the Stray Cat. His and Bruce’s stomach were equally thankful when the butler came back from running errands and caught Dick sticking his head into the trash can like some undignified street rat. Dick may have even cried a little.

“He was in Dick’s apartment,” Alfred had pulled the words out of Bruce's mouth like one would pull out teeth. He hadn’t actually scolded him for not feeding the cat, but his disapproving glare spoke volumes. Bruce continued in a tone like a chastised school boy: “We don’t know why. His fate will be left up to Dick when he returns.” Not _if he returns_. Not yet.

“Very well, sir. But I do insist you at least help brush the beast,” Alfred waved a slicker brush at him, and Bruce’s nose wrinkled like he smelled something foul.

This wasn’t a new thing. Dick knew Bruce was avoiding him. He heard of cats hiding away from their owners, but owners hiding away from their cats? Not that Bruce was his owner. He was just a human who owned the roof over their heads, and for some reason just a glimpse of Dick’s white-tipped tail had the Batman turning heel and walking right out of a room.

As he had no idea this strangely rambunctious cat was actually Dick, Dick could only conclude his avoidance came from either a desire to avoid All Things Dick; or a previously unknown fear of cats.

The latter was incredibly unlikely. The former wasn’t too annoying at first, but after days lying about no closer to regaining opposable thumbs than before, Dick’s patience grew razor-thin. When he saw Bruce carelessly toss away a letter he’d sent to the manor months ago, fury filled his bones.

Dick clawed up Bruce’s formalwear into tiny shreds. He littered the ruins across his bedroom and reveled in the carnage while waiting patiently on Bruce’s bed for the man to discover it. And Bruce, rather than ignoring him like before, actually _responded._

“ _Out!”_ Bruce had roared, picking up the comforter Dick had buried himself into and tossing it out the door. Dick squawked as he was flung into the air in a flurry of limbs.

“Bruce!” Tim came running up the hall, horrified. He crouched beside Dick and began to inspect him, like he feared Bruce had actually killed the comparably fragile cat—until Dick popped back up onto all four feet and straight-up _hissed_ at Bruce.

It was surprisingly cathartic to be able to hiss and spit and claw all he wanted at this infuriating man, and have everyone ubiquitously side with him because Dick was a _cat_.

Alfred had even withheld dinner from Bruce like he was a kid again, and Dick had never felt so satisfied at placing that sullen look on Bruce’s face.

But catty satisfaction only got him so far, and soon Dick was wondering if he was doomed to live out the rest of his days as a four-legged critter. Not exactly the best of fates, having his life span cut by nearly three-fourths.

“Still no word?” Tim broached the subject over dinner one night. Dick sat atop an ornate wooden shelf, flicking his tail while watching a scene he’d participated in hundreds of times before.

Bruce just glared at Tim without comment, and Tim nodded curtly in response.

Dick didn’t need to glance over at the calendar. It had been five days since Tim had brought him to the manor.

Five days wherein Bruce’s careful investigation turned up absolutely nothing.

Dick Grayson was still nowhere to be found.

Five days and Dick wondered if he was imagining the worried cracks breaking the Bat family’s typically indifferent façade. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. People worrying about him. People caring about him.

Bruce was holding his fork just a little too tightly.

Or perhaps it was the light.

In this mood, Dick honestly didn’t know.

\--

Bruce frowned at something on the computer screen and typed out a quick response. A few more moments, and his frown deepened.

Dick was hungry. He was bored. And despite his fire-hot anger towards Bruce, it was hard not to feel concerned over the dread creeping into his mentor’s expression. When he was younger—when _they_ were younger—all he had to do was loop his little arms around his neck and press his face into the curve of his collarbone. He’d hold him like that until Bruce’s shoulders relaxed. Until the young adult would finally crack a smile at one of Dick’s cheesier jokes, and Dick could _see_ him again.

He felt like it’d been an eternity since he’d seen the Bruce he used to know.

Certainly not since… Jason.

“Mow,” he said, winding his way around Bruce’s feet. Bruce refused to acknowledge him, not even when he started climbing up his body with sharp little kitty claws.

As if on cue, an alert popped up on the edge of Bruce’s screen just as Dick made his way from Bruce’s shoulder. A simple click brought up Oracle’s face, and Dick froze.

“Bats,” Barbara said, and then paused for a moment. “…is that a cat on your shoulder.”

“Do you have news,” Bruce avoided the question entirely.

“Dick’s been off the grid for at least a month, but a tip from his old job at the police department helped me find the system he was using to piggy-back off the station’s database,” Barbara never wasted time on small talk when work was at hand, even if the glint in her green eyes meant she’d be grilling Bruce in a hot second. “He was interested in a string of farm incidents near Bludhaven… it’s not much to go on, but it’s the last thing he was searching the week before Tim found his apartment empty.”

“Farm incident,” Bruce’s voice was flat.

“Is that a cat on your shoulder?” Barbara repeated, voice sharpening like a razor’s edge.

“Tim found him in the apartment,” Bruce said. “Probably a stray Dick picked up.”

“Farms, cats,” Barbara’s brows furrowed. “Is that enough of a connection? Or a coincidence?” A pause. “Dad thinks Dick’s circus roots are acting up. That he’s gone soul-searching, and he’s been missing for longer periods of time before.”

“And you?”

“He’s never gone off the map without telling someone,” Barbara said. Bruce stared at her through the screen. An unspoken spark rippled between them—one that Dick might as well have been able to hear out loud. _If it was before, he’d tell you. Now, he’d tell me_ _instead._

“Justice League and Watchtower communications haven’t heard from him,” Bruce listed out, tone technical. “The Teen Titans don’t know where he is. No villains are coming forward bragging about a hostage, which rules out nearly all the Gothamite and Bludhaven villains we know.”

“They’re terrible drama queens, yes,” Barbara tapped her jaw with a finger. “Are you worried, B?”

“I want answers,” Bruce snapped, and Dick flicked an ear at his tone. That was honest concern underlying his usual brusqueness.

Barbara caught it too, but had the grace not to mention it immediately. “I’ll keep looking. We’ll find him, Bruce. Stay focused.”

And she signed off, because if there was anyone who could hang up on the Batman it was Barbara fucking Gordon.

Bruce sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Dick flicked his ear again. Bruce looked _tired_. It was…

It was upsetting. He didn’t like seeing Bruce tired and beaten and angry, not even if he deserved it and more. Batman liked to keep things organized into mission-oriented boxes; to filter out the human element unless it pertained to a case; to sort things into necessary and unnecessary.

Finding Dick was technically unnecessary to any given case of his at the moment. He just wanted to. _He_ , Batman, wanted to find out where Dick was because he wanted to—and that meant he shouldn’t be spending any energy looking for Dick at all.

It was the kind of backwards, self-sacrificing logic that made Dick want swipe his claws across Bruce’s perfect chiseled face.

“Meow,” he said instead, and curled his tail around the back of Bruce’s neck. He nuzzled his face with a furry cheek and purred, and after a pregnant pause he felt Bruce’s hand come up and carefully run his fingers through his fur.

\--

Here was the best thing about being a cat. Bruce let him curl up on his chest and nap, sometimes, when he followed him up from the cave. Feeling the soothing rumble of Bruce’s breath against him was something Dick hadn’t realized he’d missed.

It almost made up for the tightness around Bruce’s eyes, his short temper, the long moments spent staring at Jason’s case like he’d find any answers there.

It almost made up for the short glimpses of other vigilantes flitting by the cave, most expressing some level of concern. Kory even stopped by to envelop Tim in her lovely arms, and for once Robin wasn’t too awkward to accept it.

“Something horrible has happened,” Bruce told Dick out of the blue, nearly two weeks since Dick had faced Circe and lost. Dick was perched on Bruce’s pillow, watching and worrying and so, _so_ sick of being forced to play bystander. “Something has happened, and I wasn’t there to help.”

It was true, but it was also unfair. Or perhaps Bruce was talking about more than Dick.

After all, from Alfred’s account it had taken a wild goose chase to find Jason after _his_ disappearance, and when they did. When they did, it had been too late.

It didn’t take a genius to compare that incident with this one.

Bruce didn’t say anymore. Just bowed his head and breathed evenly, in a familiar meditative rhythm he’d learned from his time oversees with the Shadows. Then, he flicked off the light.

Dick watched him quietly in the dark, wishing desperately for fingers to card through his hair.

Instead, he could only climb onto his too-still chest and purr until Bruce fell asleep.

\--

“I found him,” Bab’s voice rang out through the cave system like a death knell. Dick, who had been playing with one of Tim’s capes while the other vigilantes poured over the computers, froze.

“Barbara,” Bruce said tightly.

“It’s bad, Bruce,” Babs’ voice was eerily steady. “Bludhaven City Hospital. They found—a comatose patient who was fished from the river. I’ve already put in a transfer request to Gotham Central. If we move now, we can intercept them on the way.”

Dick’s little cat heart thudded in his chest. No. What? But he was _right here_ , not near dead in some hospital, that didn’t make any—

Tim had gone deathly pale. His gaze flickered from Barbara’s pinched expression on the monitor to Bruce’s sudden impression of a marble statue. God, his face.

The last time Dick had seen Bruce look like that, Dick had been bellowing at him for not telling him about Jason. About putting his costume in that _damned_ case, for the insensitive plaque, for letting Dick prance about in space for _months_ afterwards like sending word was beyond the thirty-first tech of the Watchtower.

“You’re not part of the mission anymore,” Bruce had told him in an even voice, the bastard. “You didn’t need to know.”

Dick had decked him so hard, his knuckles were bruised for days afterwards.

It would have been more gratifying if Bruce’s eyes weren’t so dull; if Dick’s own vision weren’t obscured by hot tears making the whole world swim.

He never wanted to see that look on Bruce’s face again. Not even when the cause of it was himself—or the lack thereof, this time.

“B,” Robin said, and Dick had rarely heard Tim sound so young. Scared.

Bruce abruptly stood and stalked over to where the Batmobiles were parked below. Tim gave Barbara a shaky nod and scrambled after him, hands clutching his bo-staff, and nearly tripped over a certain cat in his way.

“Cat!” Tim scolded, nimbly stepping over Dick’s best attempts to wind through his legs. Dick chased after him, everything focused on crawling into the Batmobile because _god,_ god, he wasn’t going to just sit around while Bruce imploded. Especially when he was _right here_.

The engine roared to life. He climbed in after Tim, triumphant, but was suddenly caught by the back of his neck by a certain armored glove.

“Out,” Batman’s voice was flat and dangerous. Dick meowed as he found himself suddenly rolling on the cool cave floor, alone in the wake of the Batmobile’s departure. He scrambled up to his feet and meowed again.

Then, because he was nothing if not resourceful, he clambered back up the stairs and pulled himself up to the computer console.

Fortunately, Babs had forwarded the files over to the Cave and the pop-up box was blinking temptingly at the corner of the screen.

Unfortunately, Dick was a cat, and therefore had immense difficulty using the touchpad to open it.

“Mow,” he yelped when his keyboard smashing accidentally opened a picture of Conner Kent with his shirt off. What the hell? More smashing opened more pictures, until the monitor was inexplicably covered in photos of a certain Robin’s teammate, and _what the hell_.

“Cat,” Alfred’s voice suddenly interrupted him, and Dick fell off the console in surprise. The old butler only raised a brow at the egregious display of Kryptonian on the screen and simply leaned over to turn the monitor off. Dick yowled. No! He needed to see those files!

He continued to yowl even when Alfred yanked him up around his middle, unflappable despite Dick’s best impression of a hellbeast. And when it became clear he wasn’t about to settle down, Alfred locked him in the cat carrier.

The indignity was nearly worse than having to watch Alfred sit at the console and talk lowly over the communicators to the Bat. He would’ve sat there fuming at his inability to eavesdrop if he’d been human. As he wasn’t human, however, he had the unfortunate ability to hear every word they said.

“It’s him,” Bruce’s voice came over the line as a growl.

“Are you sure.”

“It’s him, or it’s a convincing copy of him. We have to bring him to the cave to confirm. Ready the test tubes.”

“Clone, robot, magical construct,” Alfred made a note on the tablet beside him. After a heavy pause, he said, “…and if it _is_ him?”

“We’ll find a cure,” Bruce’s voice allowed no room for questioning. It was hard. Angry.

Desperate?

Dick stopped his low, near-constant meowing and cocked his head.

“Master Bruce…”

“I won’t lose him, Alfred. Not Dick.” Another pause. Then, in a small voice Dick hadn’t even thought Bruce possessed, he said, “I can’t lose Dick.”

Alfred’s response was almost gentle. “I’m sure we will retrieve him, sir. No matter the method.”

Dick watched the butler turn off communications. He watched him bow his back and press a hand to his forehead, suddenly looking old and tired and worried without anyone watching him. 

Dick felt emotion roil in his stomach. _Not Dick._ In such stark contrast with how their arguments had always gone. The _You left me_ and _You’re not Robin_ and _you FIRED ME, I didn’t leave, you pushed me away and so I went._ The way Bruce acted, it was like he’d already lost Dick a long time ago.

 _I can’t lose Dick_.

But he hadn’t, had he?

Dick still came over sometimes, either for Tim or for Justice League business. He still allowed a sizable hole to remain in his life, one that was suspiciously bat-shaped if anyone looked too closely.

And from his stay at the manor since his catification, he was coming to realize that Bruce had a hole in his life too.

He thought it was Jason. It _was_ Jason, in a way, but more than that it was _Dick_. For better or for worse the two had become hopelessly entangled, because Bruce had tried to fill one hole and found himself with yet another.

And now Bruce thought they were both gone.

The memory of Bruce whispering secrets to a certain cat filled his mind. Sadness and regret and anger, yes, because if only Bruce had told the goddamn truth for once in his life—

God, they were the absolute kings of wasting time, weren’t they? And Dick couldn’t do anything but brood over the _what ifs_ and the _could have beens_. He was stuck in a cat carrier. He was a goddamn cat.

The irony was excruciating.

\--

There were a lot of things he and Bruce didn’t talk about.

Bruce didn’t talk a lot in general, preferring to grunt and stare and punch his way through everything. If he did talk, he kept his emotions close to his chest. Nothing but the tactical necessities. Dick, on the other hand, had a tendency to run his mouth about everything _but_ what needed to be said. And while he had no trouble expressing his joy or anger or sadness through his actions, the words themselves caught in his throat.

And Bruce, the self-involved dramatic bastard, needed to hear words. He was too oblivious otherwise. Dick knew that. He _knew_ it, just as Bruce knew Dick liked emoting through touch, and despite both of them knowing each other so well they still couldn’t communicate half of the time.

It hadn’t been a problem when they were younger. When they were more open with each other, made allowances, _connected_ better.

Most people would say Dick had simply grown out of it. It was the most reasonable answer, and it was even partly true.

Partly.

There were a _lot_ of things he and Bruce didn’t talk about.

“Let me give you some advice, Robin,” Selina Kyle had once told him flippantly, like she hadn’t tied him up in a corner while she pilfered diamonds from some rich asshole’s safety deposit box. Not that the rich asshole didn’t _deserve_ to have his blood money stolen from him, but he was their best connection to a crime ring. Bats was off tailing the suspected ringleaders, and he’d tasked Dick with the easy job of finding paperwork at their target’s home. In and out, quick and easy.

No one was meant to know he was here.

Finding a tied-up Robin and an empty box would put a serious dent in their plans.

“I’ve known the Bat roughly the same time as you, you know,” Selina continued. She finished slipping the diamonds into her pocket and shut the deposit box with a click. “He’s dark. Moody. A bad boy with a sense of justice; a good guy willing to do bad things to get what he wants.”

“Batman saves lives,” Dick said stubbornly. “He doesn’t kill.”

“Death isn’t the worst that can happen to a person.”

“Death is the _end_ of a person. They can get worse. They can get better. But they can’t change if they’re dead.”

“Oh Robin,” Catwoman loped over to him and patted his cheek. Dick bared his teeth. He was a teenager, not a child, and the sooner everyone realized that the better. “The truth is, some people will _never_ change. Like the Batman, for example.” She leaned back onto her heels and pursed her lips. “He’s alluring, I know. I’ve fallen for it myself. But at the end of the day, nothing is more important to him than his mission.”

She locked gazes with him. Dick felt chills run down his spine. Selina had the unsettling ability to just _look_ right into him, to see the truths he buried deep into his gut like a light through paper, and he didn’t want her to see. It was mortifying.

“Not me. Not you. Not anyone. _Nothing_ is more important to him.” A heavy pause. “Do you understand?”

Dick refused to squeeze his eyes shut despite every instinct screaming at him to hide. He wouldn’t show his vulnerability in the presence of an enemy, even a questionable enemy like a certain Cat.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, and flushed at exactly how damning that sounded.

Selina was gracious enough not to call him out on it. Just patted his cheek one more time and stood up. “You’re young, Robin. Charming in your own way. Take my advice and let him go. Like I’ve let him go. For your own sake more than anything else.”

“Batman needs me,” Dick said. The words rang true. Selina gave him a look, like she perfectly understood him and agreed. She turned and slid out of the window without a glance back, her silence speaking far more than any quip she could’ve said in return.

She was right, and so was he. The difference was whose wellbeing they were willing to sacrifice. Their own? Bruce’s? Neither?

Or both, Dick found out just a few years later.

He hadn’t heeded Selina’s advice, and the price he paid for dallying was a loss for both sides. All of Bruce’s selfish inconsideration mixed with Dick’s apparent abandonment, all tangling together around the fundamental truth Selina had dragged to the surface that day.

The vulnerability he’d allowed Bruce to see exceeded the trust he would’ve given a friend, a brother, a parent. It was something he ached to share, and something Bruce had soaked in without constraint for so long—until he seemed to realize exactly what it meant and shut it down.

Dick wasn’t sure he could ever forgive him for it.

\--

Dick looked like death warmed over. He felt it, too, except for possibly the first time ever what he _saw_ wasn’t what he _was_. If the experience had been surreal before, it was nothing compared to watching oneself being bodily hauled out of the back of a Batmobile and strapped onto a gurney. It was nothing compared to being able to smell the river on one’s own skin; of recognizing the very faint traces of cologne he remembered applying to his own neck what felt like forever ago.

Bruce conducted the tests in stony silence.

Tim had tried to help exactly once. Bruce had gone rigid the moment Robin stepped too close—and so the boy took the hint and retreated to the console where he could overlook the files.

Dick remembered all the Superboy photos he’d found in excruciating detail, and almost chose to stay where he was by the med cot. Except Tim was muttering over Patient John Doe’s medical report and trying to trace Dick’s—Dick’s body’s—path from apartment to river, and this was _important_.

He tore himself away from the beeping of heart monitors and the soft wheezing of wet breath.

“Impossibly alive,” Tim was saying. He didn’t stop scrolling through the documents, not even when Dick climbed his way up his cape and plopped his butt on his head. Tim was like Bruce this way—laser-focused on his work to the point of distraction. “The wrinkling of his fingerpads meant he’d been in the water for a while. Possibly days? Only slight signs of a struggle, but nothing that would result in a coma. No food or water intake and yet no signs of dehydration or starvation. Impossible. Impossible. No. Not impossible.”

Furious clicking. Tim cycled through various hero files: Blue Beetle, Zatanna, Diana. Dick’s heart stopped when he saw Wonder Woman’s familiar visage. If Tim could trace Diana back to Circe…

“ _Magic_. Yes. But is it a kind of stasis magic, or a kind of cloning magic? Does lacking the signs of time passing mean it’s a magic construct? But the skin wrinkling means _some_ time is passing.” He clicked back towards Zatanna.

Dick chirped and slapped a paw onto Tim’s cheek. Diana. Diana! Unfortunately, the boy was too absorbed in his thought process and continued talking to himself.

“Possibly necessary to consult a magical expert. Zatanna’s the best choice due to Bruce’s fondness of her. However, possible emotional compromise. It’s Dick.” A shaky pause. Tim sniffed once and then seemed to curl into himself internally, until his face went blank as a porcelain mask. “It’s _Nightwing_. All hands on deck. Contact Zatanna now, ask for permission later.”

Dick meowed when Tim pulled up Zatanna’s Justice League communication code. He jumped down and stomped onto Tim’s fingers, causing him to click off of the call button. Robin paused. Blinked down at him like he just realized there was a cat in the cave, and it would be funny if Dick wasn’t so frustrated.

“ _MOW,_ ” he snapped. He concentrated hard on his kitty paws and slowly, carefully, clicked the right arrow. Clicked it again and again until he landed on Diana’s profile page. He pointed at it. “Meow, meow.”

Tim stared. He stared at him for so long without blinking Dick was half inclined to scratch him, and was rudely startled when the boy sat up with an inspired gleam in his eye.

“Of course!”

Dick perked up. Timmy was the smartest Robin. If anyone could figure out this mess, it was him.

“Diana can communicate with animals! She can just ask _you_ what happened!”

…close enough.

“ _Mow_ ,” Dick encouraged, and Tim turned back to the console.

On one hand, he was glad this whole misunderstanding was about to be over. On the other, he’d be letting go of the first beginnings of hope he’d had in years.

There would be no more struggling to deal with Bruce and their mess of a relationship. No more second guessing. Bruce had made his feelings quite clear all those years ago, and Dick knew better than to hope he’d change his mind.

 _Some people will never change_ , Selina had told him.

No matter how much pain Bruce seemed to be in right now, it would vanish the moment Dick returned. He knew that. He knew that and he needed to prepare for it, but the petulant, childish part of him didn’t _want_ to.

It was the part of him he’d crammed deep into a box away for years, brought back out by an intimacy Bruce would never allow if he realized this cat was a human. It was a part of him he wished would just _go away_.

Things would be so much easier if it did.

\--

Bruce was, predictably, less than happy about Robin going behind his back.

“You would have consulted her anyway!” Tim shouted. “Diana can talk to animals, Bruce! And the only witness to what happened to Dick is an animal, and unless you’ve invented some cat-speak translator sometime when I wasn’t looking, calling Diana was our best option.”

“You cannot contact members of the Justice League without permission,” Bruce said. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Patience isn’t going to save Dick!” Tim snapped, and immediately looked horrified at himself. Bruce went so cold, he could’ve swapped places with Mr. Freeze. Instead of answering, he glanced down at Dick like he was seeing him for the first time—as a cat, not as Dick Grayson, because not even Bruce’s detective skills could deduce that far.

Dick had the intense urge to sink his claws into Bruce’s hand, but resisted. This was not the time to test _Bruce’s_ patience, not when he was so close to finding the truth.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Bruce told his Robin with finality, and Tim relaxed just a fraction. Dismissing the topic meant his logic was sound, even if his methodology had been questionable.

Bruce moved onto his own findings without pause: “As far as I can tell, this is Dick’s real body. There’s some kind of stasis spell on it, perhaps the reason behind his coma. We need to find out who’s responsible and how to reverse it.”

“Why didn’t you just use that amulet thing Constantine gave you?”

Bruce gave Tim a flat look. “Because _Constantine_ gave it to me, and I needed to be sure.”

Seeing as the damned thing didn’t work, Bruce was right. Dick still managed to be offended on his own behalf. Sure, he was a cat, but what happened to the Batman investigating every option available?

“I’ve already begun compiling a list of suspects with our current parameters. Once Diana arrives, we can narrow the list further…”

“Batman, there’s trouble,” Babs’s voice suddenly came out over the monitor. Dick, who’d been curled up by the keyboard, sat up as dread crept over him. Bruce froze. “Wonder Woman’s communicator went offline just as she flew over Bludhaven.”

Of-fucking-course.

“Someone took out Wonder Woman?” Tim’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell’s going—”

He jumped three feet in the air when Bruce suddenly turned and swept all the beakers on the desk onto the floor. The pinging of glass shattering echoed across the cave like sharp-edged whispers. Liquid spilt onto the rock in a horrible array of colors. Dick could feel every follicle of his furry body standing on end.

Oh _fuck_.

“ _Bruce,_ ” Barbara’s voice was hard. Not because she didn’t care, but because she was better at seeing the mission for what it was sometimes.

Bruce unclenched his fist. There was blood welling from a cut on his knuckle, and he stared at it so long it rolled down his palm and dripped onto the floor beneath him.

He let out a breath. “…Barbara, see if you can triangulate her likely point of impact if she fell from the air. We’ll be working on heading to Bludhaven on our end.”

“Nightwing and Wonder Woman,” Barbara said. Her voice was hardened with resolve “This isn’t some small fry, but we neither are we. Be ready. I mean it, B. Keep yourself together until you bring our boy back.”

Bruce nodded slowly. Babs seemed satisfied enough to sign off, and there was a long awkward silence broke only by the dripping of broken beakers off the table.

Dick padded his way over to where Tim stood staring worriedly up at Bruce. It was perhaps Tim’s first time seeing Bruce lose it in person. He looked as if his world was ending, and Dick wanted to hug him close. He couldn’t, and so he rubbed his head against his shoulder instead.

He would have nuzzled Bruce, too, if he wasn’t afraid he’d be backhanded against the wall if he tried. There were moments Batman was too volatile to be offered comfort. Of all the weird habits he’d picked up as Robin over the years, it had been the hardest one he’d learned to accept.

Finally, Bruce said, “Computer, narrow our current list of suspects to those with enough power to subdue Wonder Woman.”

“Too broad,” Tim piped up. He edged closer, but had enough wits about him to keep his hands to himself. “Narrow it down to people who have fought with her before. I only just called her, there’s no way they could’ve expected her so quickly. Which means the trap must have already been set.” Dick could practically _hear_ Tim’s brain working. “They must have known we’d call Diana because of her animal communication skills, which meant they knew we have the cat. And again, they took down _Wonder Woman._ Magic, Diana, lots of power, and animals.”

Bruce’s lips thinned into a line. “ _Circe_.”

Tim frowned down at Dick, whose delight at their correct deduction was tempered by what he knew Tim was going to say next: “But Circe specializes in turning people into animals. We _have_ Dick’s body. He wasn’t turned into an animal at all.”

Oh, this didn’t sound good. Especially not in Bruce’s current state.

“Another way Circe could have known about our plans is if she heard them,” Bruce said. Before Dick could leap off the table, he found himself hauled up by big, unforgiving hands and face-to-face with a familiar scowl. “You’re not a witness, cat. You’re a _spy_.”

“Mow!” Dick snapped back, indignant.

“A spy that can lead us back to Circe,” Tim pointed out before Bruce could do something reckless, like smash Dick into a tiny kitten puddle on the floor. With the state of the laboratory equipment around them, it was more likely than anyone would admit. “If she’s using the cat to watch us—”

Bruce whirled on Tim abruptly, and the boy shut up.

 _—we can use our magic-detection technology to trace her signature back to her,_ Dick finished in his head. If he was a spy, neither Batman nor Robin wanted her to know their plans. But he _wasn’t_ a spy, and he _wasn’t_ a cat, and why the hell was this so difficult? Because Circe strayed away from her usual modus operandi. Because she felt _bad_ for him.

“Meow,” he insisted, right before he was shut into the cat carrier and hauled up into the Manor.

A nice, brightly-lit manor with an Alfred that fed him pieces of chicken, yes, but a manor that wouldn’t tell him anything about his impending demise. Knowledge was power, and a Bat hated being kept in the dark more than anything else.

\--

(“But I thought—”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“No. You gathered only the evidence you wanted to see, Dick. Emotions cloud the truth. And the truth is that you’re wrong.”

“I’m not! I see you, Bruce. Dammit all, look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. There’s no one else who knows you better. I _see_ you.”

“You’re wrong, Dick. And I’ve lost my patience.”

“Bruce—”

“ _Enough._ We won’t talk about this, Dick. Not ever again.”)

\--

They plopped the crate in-between the driver’s and passenger’s seat of the Batmobile and wrapped a strange armband thing around his belly.

Tim, looking small but stern in the red and green, directed Batman with a device attached to the armband. Using code, of course, because Dick was apparently the most brilliant spy cat ever. Except Dick had taught those hand movements to Tim himself, so he knew they were heading towards the south side of Bludhaven. And despite his limited line of sight through the crate, he knew they were driving towards the one place where this all started.

Circe collecting pigs in a warehouse, and Nightwing barging right in to stop her. Like he, a non-powered human, could stop a witch whose magic rivaled a god.

God, he’d been so fucking reckless. He’d always had the back-up of his team before to counter his own weaknesses; always had Bruce or Roy or _someone_ there to watch his back. But no, he wanted to prove he could work alone. Wanted it enough not to gather enough evidence to realize who he was dealing with, all because he’d had a shitty day and the last thing he needed was some pig-stealing thief terrorizing the poor farmers in _his_ city.

The Batmobile came to a stop.

Dick made angry cat noises when Batman and Robin jumped out of the car without bringing him along. Were they just going to leave him here? _Him_ , a potential spy and liability to the Batmobile’s safeguards?

“You sure he’s not a liability to the Batmobile’s safeguards?” Tim did give pause. Of course, great Robins thought alike. “Circe could use him to sabotage the car.”

“He’s a cat,” Bruce said, “and she’ll be focused on us. There’s no way she knows how to override the security locks even from the inside. Now let’s go.”

No. No! Dick yowled as the doors slammed shut. He paced the carrier. Clawed at the sides. Chewed on the wires connecting the armband to the device—

He stopped. The wires were awkwardly stuffed in between the crate door and the lock, being too big to thread through the wire bars. If he jiggled that weak spot enough…

Ten minutes and two rude electrocutions later—he was fine, if not a bit singed—he was free.

Shouts. Bangs. Fighting. He bolted as fast as his legs could carry him towards the sound of squealing pigs, but stopped when he heard another sound.

A woman talking. _Diana._

After a conflicted moment, he turned tail and hurried over to a nondescript shed behind the warehouse. He wouldn’t be much help fighting as a cat anyways, but that didn’t make abandoning his family any less horrible. No. Bruce needed Diana to take Circe down. He was saving them, not leaving them.

The doors to the shed were bolted shut, but Dick found a loose wallboard he just managed to squeeze himself into. Sort of.

He was actually kind of stuck, but Dick Grayson wasn’t one to give up because of a _wallboard_.

“Little one!” he heard Diana exclaim. He glanced around and saw the princess chained to the wall closest to him. She leaned over her knees. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Diana!” he said, trying once more to wriggle his hindquarters past the stupid board getting in his way. “Help me!”

“ _Dick?”_ Diana’s eyes widened comically. She reached over and simply yanked Dick right through the hole, to the detriment of a few handfuls of his fur and his dignity. “What in Hera’s name has Circe done to you?”

“Turned me into a cat. Convinced Batman I’m in a coma. Embarrassed me for life,” Dick meowed when Diana placed him in her lap. She was soft and strong and— _focus_. “What about you?”

“Captured,” Diana sighed. Upon closer inspection, the rope around her ankles was clearly spelled. Otherwise, Diana could have punched a hole through the wall herself, no cat rescuers needed. “Forgive me, Di—Nightwing. Capturing me was apparently Circe’s plan all along. She must have planned this spell for months. Luring me to her would’ve been her greatest obstacle, and so using you to draw me out… I am sorry you have all gotten involved in my issues.”

“I involved myself,” Dick said, going for consoling and ending up a little bitter. He squirmed around and began inspecting the ties keeping Diana in place. Given that her target was an Amazonian demigod, Circe had likely warded the ropes against Diana in particular. Raven’s words came to mind: the stronger something was magically enforced against one person, the weaker it became when it came to another.

Dick chewed on a rope absently.

Yes, he could work with this.

“She was in _your_ city,” Diana pointed out. “Of course she knew you would respond. And it is easier to subdue you alone than the multiple bats in Gotham, especially without any magical defenses keeping her away.”

“I’m an easier target.”

“Not a weaker target, Dick,” and oh, Diana always knew how to get to the heart of a matter. It made him want to squirm. “We are always stronger together, not alone. It is why a predator always goes after the straggler in a herd.”

Dick clawed through the ropes around one foot and began working on another, grateful for an excuse to keep silent. Trust Diana to hit the nail on the head just as quickly as Circe had. Even quicker, because Diana had actually been there when he’d started to draw back into himself. To leave behind his friends and family, to brave the new frontier without any sort of safety net beneath him.

He was an acrobat. It’s what he’d always done, except it was that kind of thinking that had—

Reckless.

It had made him a target as surely as he’d painted his own back. Non-metas like the Bats and Arrows were often tagged the weakest link in a physical fight, and even Roy had relied on Black Canary when he and Oliver had fallen out.

No, there was no point beating himself over it now. Focus on the damn ropes, Dick.

You can do at least this.

When she was free, Wonder Woman rose to her feet and stood tall before him like the golden goddess she was. And then she leaned over and scooped him up against her mighty breast, and Dick was torn between mortification and melting into her embrace. The other members of the Trinity were always _so_ good at hugs.

Batman was okay at it, not that anyone had enough experience to say otherwise.

“Now,” Diana said, raising a boot and simply kicking down the magically-enforced doors like they were nothing. “It seems we’ve a Bat and Bird to save, don’t we, little one?”

\--

The magical pigs had, apparently, added fire-breathing to their list of impossible skills since the last time Dick had seen them. Until Diana’s strategic lasso-ing toppled Circe’s magical horseshoe, and the pigs flying about the air dropped onto the ground like a sack of bricks.

Dick wished he was making this up, but he wasn’t. There was a reason Batman hated magic so much.

“Wretched Amazonian!” Circe screamed, clawing at the fire licking its way up her skirts. The incomplete spell, enraged, had rebounded on its caster with a vengeance, and was doing far more damage than either Batman or Robin could even achieve. “You would have deserved living out your days scattered into pieces across a legion!”

“Enough, Circe!” Wonder Woman snapped. Dick, who was still inexplicably curled up in the crook of her arm, marveled at how petulant the witch looked under the Amazonian’s wrath. And lasso. “How do you reverse the spell on Nightwing? Speak!”

“Our lost songbird already knows the answer. No one can force it ahead of its time. Magic is—” Circe let out a screech as a silk sleeve was incinerated into ash. “Do you know how difficult it is to acquire this kind of silk?”

“ _Circe_.”

“Oh, enough with the threats. Magic is a particular being, Diana of Themiscyra, as you well know. It will enforce the terms of the spell even past my casting.”

“The gods know you have little respect for magic’s wishes. You were going to scatter my soul into a bunch of pigs, of all things. If there is more you aren’t telling us, the lasso will compel you to reveal it. _Speak_!”

“Wait, the ‘legion’ you’re talking about were the _pigs_?” Tim interjected. As half his costume had been seared off, it was difficult taking his grave tone seriously. Even more so with him was standing beside Batman trying his best not to shiver his ass off. “How does that make any sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Circe said. “I just thought it would be amusing.”

And then, clearly tired of writhing around half-naked in front of her supposed victims _and_ forced to tell the truth… she snapped her fingers. And vanished.

Batman started forward. “No!”

“Typical,” Diana clucked her tongue. She fished back the lasso and clipped it to her belt, seemingly unaware of the panicked fury of a certain Bat-clad superhero beside her.

“We _must_ question her further. There has to be a way to find her again.”

“Circe is a goddess-level witch. She cannot be found unless she wishes it. Defeating her has always been a matter of convincing her to retreat.”

Batman whirled on her in dark, towering rage: “Tell me how to find her, Diana. Now.”

“I’d watch your tone, _Batman_ ,” Diana’s eyes flashed in warning. “I understand Nightwing’s transformation has upset you, but that is no excuse for rudeness.”

“Transformation?” Tim butted in before the infighting could result in bloodshed. “Dick’s in a coma in the Batcave. What do you mean ‘transformation?’”

“Dick’s body may be in a coma, but his—“ Diana stopped abruptly. She furrowed her brow. Dick glanced up at her, ears pricked forward in urgency. Tell them! Tell them now! “He is—” She opened her mouth again, clearly trying to speak… but no sound came out.

“Wonder Woman,” Batman said.

Diana tried speaking once more, this time towards Dick—but this attempt resulted in no words making their way out of her mouth at all.

No. No, no, no.

Dick remembered the first few times he’d tried to tell Bruce the truth, and how something had never failed to get in the way. He thought it had been a part of Circe’s spell, but if Diana couldn’t speak of it either…

Tim glanced between her stormy expression and Batman’s frown. “Did Circe cast a spell on her? I didn’t see anything. Did you see it, Batman?”

“‘No one can force it ahead of its time…’” Batman muttered to himself. “Does this apply to writing, too? Diana, we must head back to the cave to test this. We need to cure Nightwing before any damage done becomes irreversible.”

“Nightwing is safe,” Diana managed to say. She clutched the hero in question even closer to her breast, like that could help soothe the despair in Dick’s stomach. If no one could reveal the truth, what the hell was he supposed to do now? Circe had said he already knew the answer; that only Dick himself could break the spell. But he didn’t know the answer, and even if he did he couldn't do anything about it.

If he still had fingers, he’d bury them into his hair and scream.

Diana sighed. “Circe was right. Magic itself is keeping me from speaking the necessary truth. Damn her all the Tartarus, that witch.”

“The Cave,” Batman insisted.

“It won’t do much good, Batman. In my experience, there is nothing in this realm that can work against magic’s will. Only the true solution may undo what has been done.”

\--

Diana couldn’t write anything regarding Dick. She couldn’t point at Dick, she couldn’t speak to Dick, she couldn’t press a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ button when asked questions about Dick.

She was, however, able to stop Batman from kicking Dick out onto the streets out of fear that he was still Circe’s spy.

“The cat stays,” she said, and Batman furrowed his brow in consideration.

After that, he began preparing “circumventing negative space” questions—questions that skirted around Dick without mentioning him, and perhaps they could piece together clues from what Diana _wasn’t_ saying—

But then she got a distress call from _Superman_ , of all people, who needed some extra manpower. Bruce couldn’t justify making her stay.

“Nightwing is not in any immediate danger, Bruce,” Diana was able to reassure him. She even placed a soothing hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and if anyone could nip a Do-Not-Touch backhand in the bud it was Wonder Woman. “I know having him in a magical coma is… unsettling, but I can assure you he will not worsen while I am away. And I will come back here as soon as the threat has passed. I am here for all of you, you have my word.”

Bruce opened his mouth. Closed it. There was something tired and sad in his eyes, and if he was a less controlled person he might have even gulped. Instead, he stared into Diana’s honest eyes and said, “Thank you, Diana. Now go.”

Tim, who’d been watching the whole exchange silently, turned on his heel and began furiously typing away at the computers.

The moment Diana was gone, Bruce called out, “Tim, stop. Go upstairs and sleep.”

“We can still figure this out,” Tim said, continuing his typing. “There are a finite number of spells that could cause a coma like this, and if I can hack into enough databases—”

“Tim. Sleep. _Now._ ”

“No, Bruce!” Tim slammed his hands against the keyboard. His shoulders were shaking. “Nightwing’s gone, Circe’s disappeared and our only lead on what happened to him just left! I need to keep working on this!”

“Nightwing is not in any danger. Diana has repeated that over and over. She’ll be back before you even manage to hack into the correct databases, Tim, and we can pick up where we left off then. The best thing you can do now is to go upstairs, eat, and sleep.”

Tim worked his jaw for a moment. Then: “Like _you’re_ going to be doing?”

Bruce pursed his lips.

“If I’m not allowed to work on this, neither are you.”

“ _Robin_.”

“No. No! You can’t feed me some bullshit line about taking care of one’s body when you yourself are working to the bone. I don’t care if you’re the boss. I’m your Robin. And Dick—” Tim squeezed his eyes shut. “Dick always said it was Robin’s job to keep Batman from falling off a roof from exhaustion. I don’t do it enough, I know, but I’m doing it now.”

Bruce looked—he looked honestly shocked for a moment, because Tim was right. Dick had always known Tim felt awkward standing up to Bruce sometimes. Something about not having been chosen for the role, unlike Dick and Jason; about having to force his way into the Robin title and constantly living in the fear that Bruce would take it away. His earlier outburst today had already ruffled some feathers, but this?

This was outright insubordination.

Bruce had yelled at Dick enough times for it that Dick half expected Bruce to do so now.

Instead, his expression settled on tired. Resolved.

“You’re right,” he said.

Tim blinked.

“You’re right. We both need to rest.” Bruce gestured up the stairs. “Go upstairs and ask Alfred to heat you up some food.”

“Me?” Tim found his voice again. “What about you?”

Bruce didn’t speak for a long moment. Dick watched him from the corner of his eye.

“I want to sit along with Dick for a while,” Bruce said, and Dick’s heart seized in his chest. “I’ll be up shortly.”

Tim frowned. Searched his mentor's face before deciding that he was being honest. He nodded and tried picking Dick up—but Dick, having learned to avoid grabby hands that weren’t Diana’s, ducked out of the way and scurried under the desk. The boy sighed but gave up without much fight.

Timmy might have needed some comfort, but Dick. Dick needed to be with Bruce.

Whether the man knew it or not, Dick was here with him. He’d never really left. Not now, not years ago, and for the first time Dick wondered if Bruce ever wrestled with the same logic-conundrum he did.

That Bruce understood Dick still loved him, but at the same time believed Dick left him because he didn’t. Two opposing ideas coexisting in the same space. Two puzzle pieces arranged just out of alignment. It would take a bit of readjusting to slide them in place again, but for the first time in a long time, Dick thought they might be able to do it.

They’d done it for years before the… mistake, after all. They could do it again.

\--

Bruce took off his cowl and cape and pulled up a chair next to Dick’s body still lying in the med cot. He’d already checked the readings of each monitor, confirming Diana’s assertion that Nightwing’s body remained unchanging due to the stasis spell. It may be in a coma, yes, but it wouldn’t deteriorate while Dick scrambled to find a way back into its fleshy confines.

Not that he was doing much investigating now. Instead, he’d slunk out from under the desk and climbed onto the chair alongside Bruce. He pressed his little cat body against Bruce’s bulky arm, feeling the tension in the muscle there all along his furry side.

“We’ll free you from this, Dick,” Bruce said. He was talking to Dick’s slack face on the cot, not the cat beside him, but it felt like he was speaking to him all the same. “Even if facing off against Circe was the most ill-prepared thing you have done in a while. She is ranked amongst the most dangerous villains in the database. Barbara could have assisted you. The Watchtower communications have always been open for you. You were reckless, inconsiderate and emotionally-blinded. You were _stupid._ ” He paused his low, angry tirade to take a breath. “And you should know better than to presume our rift would have left you alone. I understand its effect on our personal relationship, but your anger towards me does _not_ justify risking your life.”

Dick meowed quietly when Bruce leaned forward and pressed his forehead to his hand. He whispered fiercely, “Goddammit, Dick. _Damn_ you. You’re better than this. You’re better than me.”

Another pause, longer than before.

“I can’t lose you," the words slipped out soft and quiet, and oh. Hearing the words directed to _him_ and not simply talking about him. Hearing it was a whole other experience. Because if Dick was human, he would’ve been screaming at Bruce several minutes ago, because there was no way he’d take that kind of scolding lying down. Not at his age.

But then he’d never hear this quieter, honest side of his mentor.

This was the softer side he’d known when he was younger and still excited about slipping on the costume. When he’d been less shy about drawing Bruce out of his reserved shell: climbing all over him, slipping into his bed when he had nightmares, messing up his ties and clothes during functions because _God, Bruce, these old coots are SO BORING._

“Meow,” Dick repeated, and slowly wriggled his way between Bruce’s arm and leg to settle in his lap. He didn’t move much, but Bruce did draw a tiny bit closer. Not even the Batman was immune to the calming effect of animals, and Dick was just glad he could offer what comfort he could.

Circe had mentioned showing him how much he was loved. The cure had to have something to do with that. And this was clearly it, right? Bruce basically pouring his heart out in his usual, understated Bruce-y way.

Yet he was still a cat.

Still a cat, still mute, and still unable to contribute anything of worth to this task. Because if this didn’t count—and he wanted to repeat, this kind of thing was a _once in a lifetime_ confession from the Batman—he wasn’t sure if anything ever would.

\--

Dick had never told anyone this, but he’d overheard Bruce and Selina fighting over him once.

Dick had been knocked down by some thug and Bruce had saved his ass, and the Cat had come by the help finish the job just before the thug’s brother tried to put a slug into Bruce’s skull.

“You need to tell him,” Catwoman said. Dick, still groggy from being knocked about the head, couldn’t see anything from his position sprawled across the rooftop. Bruce had laid his cape over him, at least, but it was still undignified. “It’s getting painful to watch. I know how much you hate opening your mouth and speaking, B, but you’ve been leading him on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut your bullshit. Robin’s what, sixteen? Seventeen? It’s not some cute little kid crush anymore, Bat. I know you hate remembering you were ever a teenager, but you should know crushes at that age are a lot more serious.”

Dick could feel his blush spreading all the way down his chest. His mortification was only outmatched by fear, because—Jesus Christ, he was aware Selina had known, but to confront Bruce about it? To accuse _Bruce_ of knowing? There was literally nothing else in the world Dick feared most, and here she was ruining everything.

Bruce was silent for a long, horrible moment.

“Oh my god,” Selina finally said.

More silence. Dick squeezed his eyes shut, heart beating. What did that mean? What did Selina see on Bruce’s face? He couldn’t twist around and get a better look, because it was of utmost importance neither of them realize he was conscious. He couldn’t live with the embarrassment otherwise.

Selina’s second interjection made things clearer: “Oh my _god_. Bruce!”

“No names in the field,” Batman snapped at her.

“He’s _sixteen!_ ”

“Seventeen.”

“You practically raised him!”

“Yes,” Batman said. “We’re not going to talk about this again.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s always a shit show with you two,” Selina said, and there was, indeed, no more talking after that.

Dick felt like he’d run a marathon, his heart was beating so fast. Selina’s response to Bruce had been as damning as his own non-response so many months before. He had always wondered—he always suspected—but to hear it, it changed everything.

Growing up had meant outgrowing the Robin role; he could already feel himself chafing within its confines. But if Bruce felt the same, there was a chance they could make this work.

That, in a way, there would be Batman and Robin forever.

\--

God, he’d been such a dumb kid back then.

\--

Dick hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he heard the upstairs door creak open. He swiveled his ears in its direction. Bruce had, of all things, fallen asleep resting his head on his hand. It made him look ridiculous rather than brooding, and also much easier to escape from when Dick wanted to squeeze out of his lap.

“Why hello,” a familiar leather-clad figure stalked towards him. Speak of the devil. Dick blinked when he found himself lifted up into the air. “I didn’t know Brucie had started keeping a darling like you around here.”

“He was Circe’s lure,” Bruce was up and awake, and if Dick hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes he wouldn’t have believed he’d been sleeping just a second ago. “Leaving an animal naturally resulted in us calling Wonder Woman, which was her plan to begin with.”

“Hello Bat,” Catwoman shrugged. She, like Diana, placed him snugly in the crook of her arm. Unlike Diana, however, Dick felt conflicted at the soft press of her breast against his side. This was _Selina_. She flirted with everyone, sure, but with Dick? Well. She was at least warm.

“What are you doing here,” Bruce cut right to the chase.

“Heard a little birdie was in trouble,” Selina shrugged a second time. She rounded the cot and stood opposite Bruce, all the while looking down at Dick’s face with an unreadable expression. “Came by to see you haven’t lost your mind.”

“Nightwing is an adult. Mishaps are a part of every hero’s journey.”

“Yeah, no. That’s not what I’ve been hearing over the grapevine. Word has it you’ve gone all crazy bat on all the heroes looking for our boy. Now that you’ve found him… well,” Selina peered at the monitors. “You’re probably even crazier.”

“Who’s your source,” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Leaking intel is a breach of Watchtower security.”

“A lady never tells.”

“ _Selina_.”

“Bruce.”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Bruce looked away, jaw clenched. From the intensity of his gaze, it was like the cave wall was the most fascinating thing he’d ever had the honor to marvel at.

Selina sighed and pulled up a chair by the cot. She curled herself onto it gracefully and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Catwoman was one of the few people who could get Bruce to crack first. Dick was another, even if he almost never used it. Too busy hollering back at him to take a breath and _wait_.

“Circe mentioned that this spell… whatever is keeping Dick in stasis. It’s something magic itself seems to want,” Bruce’s voice was carefully measured. “Magic is normally benevolent. It often shows itself when a lesson needs to be learned.”

Selina tapped her nails on her cheek and raised a brow.

“But she also mentioned that _Dick_ knew what the cure… the lesson was. But if Dick is in a coma…”

“…how could him knowing help anyone,” Selina finally spoke. She tilted her head. “Unless he’s not in a coma.”

Bruce frowned. “I’ve run the tests a dozen times. This is really him, Selina.”

“Yeah. His body. But you know from dealing with magical crazies that the soul and the body can be separated. What if Dick’s body is here, but his soul is elsewhere? He might even be a ghost floating about watching us right now.”

Oh, if only Selina knew how right she was.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “And what would the point of that be?”

“You’re the detective, Bruce. You can figure it out,” Selina gently let Dick down onto the floor and stood up, stretching. “Though if _I_ had magical lesson-giving powers, I’d have given both of you a slap about the head a long time ago. I used to think _before_ was bad, but it was nothing like it is now.”

Bruce jerked his head up and gave her a sharp warning glare.

Selina pointed at Dick’s body. “Dick is _literally_ bed-ridden, and you’re still concerned about this whole It Never Happened thing? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Selina—”

“Bruce,” Selina stalked across the cave and started to rifle through some of the trophies. Dick was positive this was her intention from the start, but he was too engrossed in her undressing Bruce to care. “I love you, but I can happily live without you. And yes, being independent of one another might be a good thing in a relationship, but both of us know we’d leave each other in a heartbeat for the right reasons.”

Bruce closed his eyes and didn’t respond.

“But I’ve seen what you’re like together, and what you’re like apart, and Bruce. You never let him go.” Selina found her desired trinket with a flourish and tucked it into her breast pocket. Bruce’s eyes were still closed, but Dick had cat vision and a good memory. He’d have to look into that once he was… humanified again. “One rule I’ve always lived by is that people never change. Not really. So you’re kidding yourself if you think you’d be able to cut him off for real. Stop trying.”

“It’s not that simple,” Bruce finally opened his eyes and whispered. “He thinks I threw him away. I let him. Because he’s better than me, Selina. I don’t want this darkness to drag him down.”

“So tell him,” Selina said. “Like you’ve just told me. Think of this whole thing as your wake-up call, Bruce. If the worst happens and Dick really is gone, do you really want things to end without clearing the air?”

\--

After Selina left, Bruce spent another monstrously long session just staring at Dick’s body. His hands were clasped so tightly together his knuckles bled white. He pressed his mouth against his thumbs and sat as if he had the entire world on his shoulders.

Dick, heart-sick and tired just watching him, crawled onto the cot and plopped himself onto his own chest. It was a strange sensation, feeling his own heartbeat beneath his belly. Bruce locked eyes with him. There was a warning there: hurt Dick Grayson and you, cat, will be punished.

It was ironic but touching all the same. Dick closed his eyes intent on catching a few more ‘z’s before Tim inevitably woke up and tore the cave apart on his magical hacking manhunt.

And then Bruce spoke.

“Dick. I don’t know if Selina is right and you’re here listening. I don’t know what I need to do to wake you up, if I can do anything. But every avenue needs to be pursued, and if there is a lesson to be learned I feel like it’s something between me and you. I’ve spoken to you quite a bit so far, but we have both been very good at not saying what needs to be said.”

A heavy pause.

“Do you,” Bruce’s voice actually stuttered to a stop. He cleared his throat and began again. “Do you remember your eighteenth birthday party, after all your friends had gone home.”

Dick’s blood ran cold. Fuck no. He didn’t want to hear this again. Not now, not ever, and Bruce had always respected that by _never talking about it_. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Bruce, thankful for once that Bruce was so focused on Dick’s face he didn’t pay any attention to the cat in the room.

“You came to my study, laughing. Bright. And beautiful, Dick, you always have been.” Bruce sighed and turned his head. “We talked, and it was good. I congratulated you, and you were so _happy_. And then.”

And then.

“And then you asked for a late birthday present. Like the Rolex watch I packed for you wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t, but you’re usually good about accepting it anyway. I agreed. You smiled and leaned across the desk.” Bruce worked his jaw. “And then you kissed me.”

It hurt like a dull ache spreading from deep within his chest. Because he _had_ been happy. He _had_ been excited, because he was eighteen and an adult and it should have been fine, now, to show his hand. He’d been so confident in that one conversation he’d heard. At least confident enough to think something like this wouldn’t change much.

Naïve enough not to realize it would change everything.

“I pushed you away. Horrified. Told you I hadn’t realized my actions had led to this kind of misunderstanding, and that we clearly needed time apart. We fought. You refused to back down. You clung to Robin like a lifeline, and so.”

Bruce sighed. He sounded regretful, which was only a light balm to the searing pain that was what happened next: “And so I took it away from you.”

There was a reason they never talked about it. It sat unspoken and festering for years between them, untouched because Dick knew, he _knew_ if Bruce ever called him on it—

He’d barely managed to bandage that wound the last time by dedicating himself to the Titans. And look how that ended.

But then Bruce did something Dick had never thought he’d see. He reached over and lifted Dick’s limp hand. Bowed his head and pressed his mouth to his knuckles, and that wasn’t the impossible part. It was what he said that floored him.

It was, for the first time in a long time, the bald-faced truth.

“You were right, Dick. I lied. You’re smart enough to have realized that, but too kind to dig deeper for the truth. I lied. I knew about your feelings. I knew my own actions were… leading you on. And I knew with the way you loved, it would take something extreme to force you to move on.”

A breath. Dick couldn’t move, and neither could Bruce.

“So I lied. Broke things off the worst way imaginable and saw that happiness fade from your eyes. Thought it would be worth it to set you free. It was the best thing for you at the time. I used to think that. But you didn’t go free. I hadn’t.” Bruce stopped. Started again. “I hadn’t realized how alone you’ve been recently. How adrift my actions must have left you. I’m so sorry.”

A longer, weightier pause. Dick wanted to beg him to _stop_ , it was too much, stop talking already please. But he couldn’t. He could only watch and listen, and it was as excruciating as it was necessary.

And Bruce. Bruce, for once in his life, didn't stop talking. “There is an even deeper layer of lies in here, Dick. Because I knew about your feelings, and I didn’t stop them. Do you know why.”

Dick’s heart stopped—and then began racing faster and faster, so fast he could barely keep still in his tiny kitten body. No. No, no, no. Of all possibilities, he’d never expected Bruce to touch upon _this_. Because even in the category of ‘Things They Never Talk About’ there were things that were talked about even less. And this was one of them.

This was something that could destroy him entirely, and he could no more stop it than a cat facing a train on the train tracks.

“I liked it,” Bruce said. “I _liked_ it, Dick, and there is something so very wrong with me. I saw that darkness and I slammed the lid shut.”

The self-loathing in that sentence drew Dick back down to reality. Cut through the terror gathering around him from every angle, until it felt like his very cells were tingling. It grounded him just a bit, because _god,_ Bruce, no.

Dick had been such a kid back then, to not see how fragile Bruce sometimes was. He was like a glass wall this way. Impenetrable when leaned upon, but one hit at the right angle and the whole thing just shattered.

“All these years, you thought it was _you_ that failed when I took Robin away from you. It’s not. It’s my fault, Dick,” Bruce’s quiet whisper had grown ragged. He wasn’t crying, but his voice certainly sounded wet. If Dick was back in his body he could’ve felt any tears on the hand Bruce still hadn’t let go of. As it was, his inability to react was maddening. He wanted to reach back. To draw Bruce into his arms and comfort him like he had when he’d been a kid. He couldn’t, but he longed to all the same.

(He wondered if Bruce had cried like this over Jason. Perhaps. And Dick hadn’t been there to comfort him.

Perhaps Bruce thought he deserved it. Dick would have thrown a bookshelf at him, sure, but he’d inevitably toss aside his reservations and crush Bruce into a hug anyway. Bruce could have leaned on him, but he chose to keep Dick in the dark instead.

Not out of spite from their fighting, but out of guilt over his own involvement.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.)

“I loved you too much, Dick,” Bruce told his sleeping body like it was the gravest secret he’d ever uttered. Between the two of them, it was. “And even now, I still do. So if you’re here, Dick, know that the fault was mine. I was an adult and your mentor, and I failed you.”

And then he gently laid Dick’s hand back down and reached over to cup Dick’s cheek, and Dick.

Dick knew he was telling the truth. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. Or perhaps it was just right, given everything, spoken at the right time.

Because Dick saw the flaws and mistakes in Bruce’s words, and he accepted them. He’d been a dumb kid and Bruce had been a dumb adult, and their mistakes may have shifted them out of alignment but it didn’t have to be forever.

They didn’t have to look backwards to move forward; not after accepting the past for what it was.

Dick opened his mouth. Despite knowing his meows were unintelligible nonsense to the average human, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out in a rush, “No, Bruce. You _saved_ me. I’ve always loved you too much. Never stopped, even if it would have made things easier, and now I know. I _know_.”

But he wasn’t trying to say it.

He _was_ saying it.

Bruce stared right at him with astonished blue eyes, calloused palm still resting on his cheek, and good lord, that was _his_ cheek. He shot upright at once, sending the monitors around him screeching in alarm. He brought his fingers to his face. Fingers. He had _fingers_!

The image of cat-him sitting on his stomach wavered like a mirage—and then seemed to dissipate into a smoke that sank deep into his bones. Once fully absorbed, Dick took a breath. Soul and body. Oh, it felt good to be whole.

“Bruce,” he addressed directly, relishing in the taste of _English_ on his tongue. “Bruce, oh my god.”

“Dick,” Bruce said faintly. But wait. Something about him was drawing together, shutting down. His eyes even looked less wet, he was clamming up so fast, and alarm shot through Dick’s heart.

No, he wasn’t going to let these last few litter-boxed weeks go to _nothing_.

He seized Bruce by the cowl and kissed him.

Teeth clacked. Bruce’s stubble hurt scratching his chin. And neither of their breaths were fresh, because despite his body being in stasis Dick’s mouth hadn’t opened for _three weeks._ Bruce’s last breath-refresh was more like twenty-four hours ago, but anything past three was worthy of a nose wrinkle.

“Ugh,” Dick pulled back and fumbled beneath the cot with a hand. He came back up with two bottles of water and tossed one at his shocked mentor. “I love you, Bruce, but we both need to brush our teeth.”

“What,” Bruce managed. “You—I—”

“Stop thinking,” Dick said. “You thinking too much is what got us into this mess. I’m serious.”

“ _Dick_ ,” and it was like Bruce realized what he was looking at right now. Dick, up and alive. And suddenly, thick arms were wrapping around his waist, tight and possessive in a way Dick hadn’t felt since he’d been a Robin small enough to ride piggyback. It was all the emotion Bruce needed to convey without the awkward use of words. Actions over words. That’s always how Bruce had been, even if he used it sparingly for affection. Dick knew that and accepted it, and so he clung to him tightly in turn.

It was more intimate than the kiss, because Dick could feel Bruce’s heart beating against his chest. He could hear his breathing far more clearly, feel the nuances of his grip against his shoulders.

“I’m here,” Dick said, tucking his head into the crook of Bruce’s neck. “I’m still here, B. Always have been.”

It was true in many senses of the word. Dick was sure Bruce understood it. It was how their relationship had always been. Layers upon layers, contradicting truths all coexisting together in one space. Like perfectly aligned jigsaw pieces.

For the first time in a long time, finally clicking into place.

 

 

 

 

_extra_

 

“So,” Dick casually opened up conversation with Tim over Sunday brunch. “You and Superboy, huh?”

Tim spat out his coffee. “Excuse me?”

Dick raised a brow. “I saw your photos.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Funny what people say when they don’t notice a cat listening in,” Dick said, and then frowned at the mission briefing Raven had forwarded him. He wasn’t an active member of the Teen Titans anymore, but he’d reconnected with his old team enough that they felt comfortable sending him updates. Beast Boy had suggested he keep himself physically away, however, in fear of Kory’s temper if she saw him in the midst of battle.

(“It’s not ‘cause of you and the Bat,” Garfield had said, somewhat uncomfortable. Dick had never been as subtle as he’d thought, apparently, because few of his old friends seemed surprised about his teenage crush. Dick wasn’t sure if he should be amused or mortified. “She’s known about _that_ since you were together. She’s still mad over your break-up, but you know Kory. When she’s mad, she’s _mad_. But when she’s over it, she’s over it. I’m sure it’ll pass, man, but in the meantime keep your head down, kay?”

Literally, as it happened. Dick suffered a few singed hairs the last time a menagerie of heroes gathered together, and Kory’s blasts had strayed too close for comfort.)

Tim was still gaping like a fish. “I never said anything about Kon when you were a cat!”

“No, but here’s a tip, Timmy,” Dick leaned forward. “If you don’t want people to know, try putting the photo album of sexy Kryptonian _off_ the desktop next time? So kitty paws don’t accidentally open them?”

“Oh my god,” Tim’s voice was faint. “Someone shoot me now.”

“Who’s shooting who,” Bruce came down from the staircase, still dressed in robes and the left side of his hair plastered up in a ridiculous case of bed head. He slipped into the seat beside Dick—giving Dick the perfect opportunity to lick his palm and press his hand to the offensive tuft. Bruce frowned at him. “Dick, that’s unsanitary.”

“You used to do it to me,” Dick said.

“You used to do what?” Tim tried to move the conversation away him and his scandalous Kryptonian affair—and regretted it two seconds later when Dick licked his palm again and advanced on the boy. “No! NO! DICK NO.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out from the kitchen, and Dick settled back down with a laugh.

Bruce wasn’t easily distracted, however. One fortunate—unfortunate—result of the whole affair was Bruce's increased dedication to keeping an eye on his Robins. Dick was used to the surveillance, but Tim. Tim still needed to learn how to hide.

“What were you talking about with Tim,” Bruce broached the subject again later while they were sprawled on the master bed. It was less awkward than it sounded. Probably because Bruce’s bed was massive, Dick was on his belly typing up his comments on JLA mission briefings, and Bruce was pretending to read a book while actually staring at Dick’s ass.

Also, their clothes were still on.

( _Also_ -also—they used to hang like this back when Bruce had still been _cool._ Physical contact had never been something Dick had shied away from as a kid. That came later.)

“I can’t tell you,” Dick said absently. “I’d lose my big bro cred.”

“Dick.”

“These newbies are so untrained,” Dick squinted at the screen. “You think I should head up to space and whip them into shape a bit? I mean, it’s not like I’ve a real job to occupy me nowadays.”

“You don’t need a real job. You have a trust fund.”

“If that’s your way of saying I should work for Wayne Enterprises, you’ve clearly breathed in too much smoke during patrol,” Dick said. “Have you thought of testing the pollution levels near the harbor?”

Bruce ignored the sass in favor of his book. Or that’s what he wanted Dick to think. Dick rolled his eyes to himself and stretched, and oh, he knew why Selina liked doing this so much now. The expressions it elicited from Bruce were priceless.

“ _Dick_ ,” Bruce admonished, betraying his true act of _staring at his ass._

“Habit I picked up from being a cat,” Dick blatantly lied. He shut his laptop and carefully shoved it further away, before turning around and crawling over to where Bruce was still staring at his book. He hooked his chin over his shoulder. “Perhaps a habit I learned from a certain cat, too?”

“Bad habits,” Bruce said dryly. Still, he didn’t frown or move away when Dick slipped a hand under his robe and traced the curve of his pec. So much had changed and also stayed the same since the last time Dick was allowed this kind of access. Bruce was older, harder, and more battle-worn than before—but even more handsome for his scars. Dick had similar marks over his body, though he tended to keep himself in better shape than the Bat.

For all his temper and recklessness, Dick was too vain to throw himself as carelessly into a machete as Bruce often did. Unnecessary injuries his _ass_.

Speaking of his ass, Bruce was slipping a hand around his waist. That was actually an improvement.

Because, like his body, as many things changed as they’d stayed the same.

Bruce wasn’t going to allow Dick to regress back to their old Batman and Robin days of touch so easily. Dick never expected him to. There was too many years and bad blood and unspoken tragedies in the way. _Jason_ still hung over them like a silent cloud, though Bruce seemed less self-punishing now than he’d been before. No.

Dick may not be shy about kissing, but he knew better than to push too hard, too fast. He’d learned how to wait.

After spending three weeks sidelined as a _cat,_ he’d gotten far better at waiting for the right time.

And it was paying off. Bruce, who’d often do his best impression of a cardboard cut-out if Dick snuggled too close, relaxed incrementally as the days went on. It helped that Dick had stayed over the Manor nearly full-time since returning to humanity—because it was clear now he’d been languishing in Bludhaven. No job, no apartment, not after weeks of falling off the map. Dick found himself less torn up about it than he’d once expected.

Bludhaven would still be waiting for him when he was ready.

Now he just wanted to rest.

“You can move your hand lower,” Dick shrugged, nonchalant, and resisted the urge to fall over cackling at the deer-in-headlights look Bruce gave him. “Alright, alright. Don’t move, then.”

“Dick,” and only Bruce could still sound so unsure when Dick was so very clearly offering himself up on a platter.

“I like it,” Dick hummed, and placed his head back onto Bruce’s shoulder. Some people may have bubbled over in frustration by now, but Dick was satisfied with just being able to hold Bruce close again. To breathe him in and gather comfort from his strong embrace, without any of the awkward stigmas that had hung over them in their misunderstanding-cloud–of-doom.

His entire _being_ felt lighter when he was in the same room as Bruce now. Stronger. He and Bruce had always made a brilliant team, even during the very worst of their fighting. Fitting back together was going to take more time than effort. Their body memories were far more forgiving than the heart.

“Tim isn’t hanging out too much with that… Superboy, is he?” Bruce suddenly said, voice so laden with suspicion Dick _did_ burst out laughing. He continued to laugh until Bruce grabbed him in a hold and tickled him, and _Christ_ , no one ever believed him when he said Batman was a dirty little shit when it came to wrestling.

No one believed Batman wrestled, for starters, because he only ever did it when he and Dick were alone. Like now.

Despite his protests, Dick smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

\--

“Nightwing,” Diana greeted him with open arms the first time he returned to the Watchtower since, you know. Regaining his fingers. “I am thrilled to see you once more upright. Though you were, indeed, a very cute cat.”

“Thank you, Diana,” Dick said. “Has Circe been giving you any more trouble?”

“No. She’s been sulking at her island, undoubtedly. After her last disaster, I’ve made it clear to her that my colleagues are off limits. Her battle is with me.” Diana’s expression darkened. “I doubt she will stay away for long, but rest assured she will not be able to achieve the same level of magical transformation without outside assistance.”

“Hm,” Dick said. At Diana’s prompting, they exited the zeta tubes and continued conversing as they trekked to the monitor room. There were so many things he’d missed since he’d gone AWOL. So many dynamics to relearn, and Dick could already feel himself brightening as his mind whirred with every new scrap of information. It was so good to put himself to use again.

Until the various heroes goose-necking every time they passed became too distracting for him to ignore, and Dick stopped talking long enough to ask, “…why are all the newbies staring at me?”

Diana winced. Clearly, she’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Perhaps it is because of how Batman… reacted to news of your disappearance.”

“I thought he sent a note off to Clark?”

“He did,” Diana said. “And when Clark admitted he hadn’t seen you since our last mission, Bruce began a most unflattering criticism of the Watchtower security system. Zeta’d here in person just to challenge our current regulations regarding this technology, and of course Clark challenged him back by insisting even heroes need their privacy. _Children._ The whole squabble ended up being broadcast all over the tower.”

“Oh my god.”

“Bruce brought Kryptonite, of all things. He used it just long enough to break Clark’s nose, but it violated rule number seven. We had to lock him up in the holding cells for an hour to wallow in his dishonor.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“The new heroes fear Batman enough as it is. Witnessing him… ‘lose his cool’ so violently over this Nightwing, well. Their curiosity was peaked enough to look you up.”

Dick raised a brow. “They looked me up?”

“Yes. On the google, first, and then the Watchtower database.” Diana looked as if she was trying to remember something. They stopped in front of the monitor room doors. “I think you’ve gathered a fan club.”

“B broke Clark’s nose and I have a fan club? This is the best day ever,” Dick laughed as the doors slid open. A crowd of newbies stood by the entrance like sharks ready to feast.

“Famous last words,” Diana said, the traitor—and quickly stepped back to leave him to his fate.

Ah, the burden of popularity.

\--

Things weren’t always so great, of course. Dick and Bruce still fought, so fiercely sometimes Dick would storm off to Barbara’s to cool off for a night. Bruce would spend hours in the training room taking his frustrations out on a punching bag, because Tim always did the smart thing and hid himself away so he couldn’t be forced to ‘spar.’ They’d growl at each other and refuse to talk, and only Tim’s fearful are-they-going-to-go-cold-war-again looks convinced Dick to reach out first.

(Even if it wasn’t his fault, he knew nothing would happen if he didn’t make the first move. The whole incident with Circe had taken _three weeks_ for Bruce to finally spit the words out, and only because Selina had kicked him in the rear. They were too good at silences, both of them.)

It helped that this time, Dick _knew_ Bruce loved him. Knew it deep in his bones, far more securely than he’d had before in Bludhaven, and it made a world of difference. To both of them, really, because Bruce seemed to finally accept that Dick would always come back. That despite the Bat’s many, _many_ mistakes, Dick had no intention of leaving. Not really. He might go once in a while to find himself or cool down or establish his independence, whatever that meant—but he would always come home. He would always love Bruce.

Unconditionally, as dangerous as that was.

If Batman one day descended into hell, Dick suspected he'd follow him right down in a heartbeat.

“Sometimes, I think we already have,” Bruce whispered, large hands warm against Dick’s back. He slid them down until they settled over the curve of his ass, watching the way the muscles shifted as he continued to press his cock inside.

Dick disliked being facedown for this exact reason—when he wanted to reach over and kiss away the dark look in Bruce’s eyes, the slight guilty furrow of his brow, because god forbid the Batman could ever be a little bit happy. He wanted to lick into his mouth the same way he used to dream of when he was fifteen and discovering the difference between a kid crush and a _real_ crush. When he was too scared to ask Bruce about it and made the unfortunate decision to talk to Roy instead.

But he couldn’t, because Bruce was fucking him while sitting up on his knees, hands firmly keeping his ass up and in place, and ugh. Dick didn’t want to allot brain space to figuring out this conundrum. He’d rather spend that energy enjoying the frissons of pleasure running up his spine, the firm but gentle way Bruce handled his body, the culmination of so much time spent peeling back the layers that kept them from this moment.

But Bruce needed the reassurance, and Dick couldn’t kiss it better. He sighed and, after another beat, hauled himself up on his forearms. Maybe if he wriggled around, that would help…?

To his surprise, Bruce noticed what he was doing and leaned forward. Covered his back with his bulk and hooked his chin over his shoulder, and oh. _Oh_. Dick turned and gratefully pressed their mouths together. He was going to develop a crick in his neck but he didn’t care; it was worth being able to reassure Bruce he wanted this, that he enjoyed it, and if he stopped now he was going to _kill him_.

“B,” he reached back and cupped the back of Bruce’s head. God, this man. Even years since their first fateful meeting, he still managed to surprise him like this. Dick just wanted to melt. “Fuck, Bruce, come on, come _on_ —”

Later, once Dick had rolled Bruce over and hooked a leg around his waist—Bruce being the little spoon, of course, he always had been even when Dick was little and having nightmares—he pressed his forehead against Bruce’s nape.

“Meow,” he said, and chuckled when Bruce shuddered in his arms.

“Please don’t remind me of Selina right now.”

“Who said anything about Selina,” Dick rolled his eyes and slapped his bicep, mostly in jest. “ _I_ was the one that actually got turned into a cat, remember?”

“Why a cat. It never made much sense to me.”

“Because Circe is a witch, and witches like cats?” Dick shrugged and rubbed his face into Bruce’s short cropped hair. “Or because Selina’s the one who always saw the both of us most clearly. Either one.”

No response.

“Bruce?”

“Go to sleep, Dick,” Bruce’s voice sounded long-suffering. It was all so domestic Dick chuckled again, earning himself a light slap to the flank. He curled his arms around Bruce’s waist and squeezed his eyes shut.

Jigsaw pieces fitting together. Literally, at the moment, but everything else was coming together too.

They were going to be okay.

\--

(“Merry Christmas, Dick,” Barbara leaned up and squeezed Dick around the waist. Dick buried his nose into her soft red hair and squeezed her back. No matter what happened between them before and in the future, it wouldn’t change the fact that Oracle was one of his closest friends.

It also wouldn’t change the fact that Barbara was probably going to stalk his online presence until the day he died. It was the price he paid for his disappearing act, and it was a price he was willing to pay if it kept Babs at ease.

“Careful not to hug for too long,” Selina slunk over and whispered into Dick’s ear. “Or a certain Bat may get jealous.”

“It’s _Babs_ ,” Dick insisted, but let go of Barbara with a sigh. “And don’t think I missed seeing you kissing Bruce under the mistletoe just now.”

“Yes, but _you_ know I’m just having fun. Our lovely Bat still hasn’t convinced himself you won’t leave just yet.” Selina’s gaze softened. “Sometimes that stupid man needs stupid reassurances. Even if he won’t admit it.”

Dick tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Satisfied that her warning was heard, Selina leaned down and tapped one of Barbara’s wheelchair handles. “Let’s go fetch some eggnog, Red. Leave stupid boys to do stupid boy things.”

“I will as soon as you give back that diamond bracelet,” Barbara’s voice was mild but left no room for question. “You know the rules, Cat.”

“Killjoy,” Selina sighed, but didn’t seem too put out at being caught. She turned and blew a kiss at Dick. “Merry Christmas, Robbie. May the New Year be kind to us all.”

Dick smiled and raised a glass. Then, he’d ambled through the crowd over to where Bruce was indeed standing about looking dour. Slipped an arm around his waist and leaned his head against his shoulder.

He waited until Bruce relaxed before he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he smiled. Bruce didn’t smile back, but there was a fond glint in his eye that Dick had no trouble reading. His smile grew wider.

And the party bustling around them faded away.)

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS YALL.


End file.
